Baggage
by Wickedly Hope Pancake
Summary: Everyone's got baggage. Even Mark, even though he might not let them know. No Mark/Roger in this, sorry Marker fans.


**A/N: So...this is my first Rent fic. Let me know if I suck, please?**

**Trigger Warning: contains a school shooting scene**

* * *

Mark was the one out of all of them who was supposed to be the rock; the strong one, the one who had it easy. He was the one who they'd unload their baggage onto, and he'd just take it without protest. They never thought that he had just as much baggage as they did. Then again, what would make them think that? After all, he'd never say anything about it, for fear of making a scene; for calling unneeded attention to himself. The last thing he wanted was people feel sorry him. So he just kept living every day as it came, keeping the past in the past.

Some days were harder than others, and those days were the ones where he'd just take his bike out for a ride around the city to avoid being around Roger; or Mimi, if she was there. He didn't need them questioning him. So, he'd just ride around the city. It was big enough to forget yourself in, thank God…

And today was one of those days.

* * *

Roger was sitting on the table, strumming out a few chords on his guitar; his messy, dirty blonde hair falling just short of his eyes.

Mark was sitting at the other end of the table, scribbling out something on a yellow legal pad; wearing his trademark blue-and-red striped sweater and an old, tattered jacket.

Roger stopped playing and looked over at his roommate.

"Hey Mark, what are you doing?"

Mark looked up at him, startled out of his thoughts; his glasses falling down the bridge of his nose.

"Huh?"

"What are you writing?"

Mark looked down at the notepad, almost as if he was unaware of what he was currently doing.

"Oh. Nothing." He muttered, ripping the page out, crumpling it up and shoving it in his pocket.

Just then, the door opened.

"Hey, Merry Christmas bitches!" Collins yelled, walking into the loft.

Roger rolled his eyes.

"It's the middle of April, genius."

"Fine. No 'Hey, good to see you Collins?'"

"Hey Collins," Mark said, getting up and pulling him into a hug.

"Where've you been? It's been nearly five months."

"Got a job." Collins said, sitting down in a chair across from Roger, looking pleased with himself.

Roger looked over at him.

"Teaching again?"

"Not exactly..." He said, pulling a fan of fifty dollar bills out of his pocket and handing them each at least a hundred fifty.

Mark looked up at Collins.

"How the heck did you swing this?"

Roger looked at Collins expectantly.

"Apparently, rich kids up at Cornell'll pay big for a hack into the school's server so they can ace their finals."

Roger laughed, shoving the money into the back pocket of his jeans.

"You serious?"

Collins grinned.

"Haven't gotten caught yet."

"You're gonna get caught sooner or later." Mark said, looking skeptical.

Collins shook his head.

"My friend, I'm the janitor. The LEAST suspicious person on campus. Besides, I hack the computers when I'm on the night shift, so it's all good."

The door opened again, and Mimi strolled into the loft, followed by Maureen and Joanne.

Collins got up, walking over to them and giving each of them a hug.

"Hey! The gang's all here!"

Mimi smiled, walking over and wrapping her arms around Roger's neck and kissing him on the cheek.

Maureen walked over and sat down on the couch next to Mark.

"Hey Marky." She said, twirling her hair around her finger.

"What've you been up to?"

Mark looked uncomfortable, but answered the question nevertheless.

"Not much. Still trying to find a job."

Joanne saw Maureen subtly flirting with him and walked over and sat down next to her; nudging her in the ribs with her elbow and looking over at Mark.

"I could always hook you up with a job at Buzzline again."

He shook his head.

"Uh, no thank you. Been there, done that, and NOT going there again."

Joanne nodded, ending their conversation; but Maureen kept pushing.

"Aw, come on Mark. It'd be a pity to let your spectacular filming skills go to waste."

Roger and Mimi looked over at them.

Mark shook his head.

"I have my camera, I don't need any endorsement from a sleazy news show."

"That show is crap, if you ask me." Roger butted in.

"I mean, at least half of it is celebrity publicity. The other half is trying to figure out whether or not Elvis is still alive."

Mimi laughed, and Mark looked relieved that the conversation had come to an end.

Joanne looked over at the others.

"So, how've you guys been? It's been a while."

"I'm now working in the custodial services." Collins said jokingly.

"Six months crack-free." Mimi declared, pumping her fist in the air.

Roger looked over at them.

"Well…I went out of the apartment last Tuesday…Saw a movie with Mimi."

"What movie?" Maureen asked.

"Alice in Wonderland."

"Joanne and I saw that! It's good, isn't it?"

Mimi nodded, and Maureen looked over at Mark.

"How 'bout you, Marky?"

"Uh…like I said, not much. I'm working on another film."

Suddenly, a shot rang out through the city. A few seconds passed, and soon police sirens began screaming.

Mark looked jumpy. Getting up, he walked over to the window and looked out.

Roger looked over at him.

"Hey, you okay?"

Mark blinked.

"Y-Yeah…" He said, turning and looking at the others.

_Shit. _This was exactly what he was afraid of. Everyone was here. He needed to get out of the apartment. He couldn't deal with this now. Not now.

He walked over and grabbed his helmet and his jacket, hastily pulling them on.

Everyone looked confused, watching Mark acting more than a _little _out of the ordinary.

"Hey Mark, where are you going?" Collins asked.

Mark turned around to face his friends.

_I can't deal with this right now._

"Uh…somewhere." He muttered, grabbing his bike and opening the door.

"See you guys later."

And before they could question anything, he had wheeled his bike out the door; slamming it behind him.

Everyone stared at the door, before turning and looking back at each other; thoroughly confused as to what just happened.

Mimi was the first to break the silence, raising her hand.

"Okay, who else thinks something's up with Mark?"

Maureen promptly raised her hand, as did Roger, followed by Collins and Joanne.

* * *

Mark pedaled his bike down the street, trying to shake the nagging memories that kept swarming through his mind.

* * *

Everyone slowly looked over in Maureen's direction.

"What?"

Joanne looked at the others, then back at her.

"Well…you _were _pestering Mark about getting a job."

* * *

He turned down a side-street, coasting down the alley: heading in the direction of Central Park.

* * *

"Oh, so now _I'm _the bad guy?" Maureen asked defensively.

"No one said that." Roger replied.

"We're just trying to figure out what got Mark so worked up."

"Well search me!"

* * *

Mark pedaled past the community center, where Collins, Roger and Mimi attended Life Support. He escaped his current memories for a moment, but was soon flooded by memories of Angel instead.

Tightening his grip on the handlebars of his bike, he pedaled faster.

* * *

"Okay, I have two extra seats in my car. We could look for Mark around the city. I'll drive."

* * *

Mark slowed down, getting off his bike and locking it to a bike rack. He began walking down the sidewalk of Central Park, sighing and dropping his shoulders. It had been almost nine years since it had happened, but it still haunted him to this day. It was so easy for him to forget minute details, so why couldn't he just forget that one day?

* * *

Joanne drove down the street, looking out for a glimpse of Mark's familiar black-and-white striped scarf.

Maureen was sitting in the passenger seat, also looking out the window.

"Do you see him?"

Joanne shook her head, looking back at Roger; who was sitting in the back.

"Okay, Roger. You've known him longer than Maureen or me. Where do I go?"

The guitarist looked pensive for a moment, before responding.

"Central Park."

* * *

Mark was sitting on a bench, his head resting in his hands, when Roger sat down next to him.

"Hey, buddy."

Mark looked up at him.

"Rodge? What are you doing here?"

"Well, you kind of just ran out on us. What happened?"

"Oh. Nothing." Mark muttered, looking over his shoulder.

"Are the others here?"

Roger shook his head.

"Joanne and Maureen are waiting in her car, and Mimi and Collins are back at the loft. So, you gonna talk or what?"

Mark shrugged.

"I don't know…"

"Come on, Mark!"

Roger wasn't exactly the most patient person when it came to keeping secrets. And that was _exactly _what Mark was doing.

"Why'd you freak out back there? You know, Maureen thinks she did something."

Mark looked at him, before shaking his head.

"She didn't do anything."

"Well then who did?"

Mark opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he glared at Roger, who held up his hands defensively.

"What? Did I do something? Come on, talk to me!"

"No. you didn't do anything! You didn't do anything, Maureen didn't do anything, none of you did anything! Okay?"

"So why are you mad at us?"

"I'm not mad!"

"Yeah, you're _sure_ convincing me of that…"

Suddenly his mind flooded with memories again. Mark jumped, getting up from the bench and looking panicked.

Roger looked at him, slightly concerned.

"Mark? You okay?"

He swallowed hard, trying to shake the memory. Blinking, he sat back down on the bench, his heart racing.

Roger looked over at him.

"Okay, what was that about?"

Mark looked over at him. No use hiding it anymore.

"…I-I have PTSD."

Roger looked shocked.

"…How?"

Mark took a deep breath.

"I-I was in tenth grade. I was in the film club, right? We'd go around the school shooting short films and stuff. A-Anyway, sometimes we were asked to film school events and things like that. Well, there was this…um…this assembly for the seniors, a-and um…I was asked to film it. And…about ten minutes in my battery died, and I had to go back to the Rec. Room to get a new one. I-I get out into the halls and…um…I-I heard gunshots and then I heard over the loudspeaker that the school was going into lockdown and that there's an armed intruder in the West Wing. I-I was in the hall leading towards the West Wing, so I tried running back to the nearest classroom but all the doors were locked by the time I got there. I-I started panicking, because I was stuck in the hall leading towards the lunchroom, so there weren't any classrooms. A-And then I heard footsteps behind me…I-I started freaking out and I just ran…"

Mark's voice cracked, as he was obviously terrified by the account.

"…W-We were told in drills that we were supposed to head outside if we couldn't get into a room. But I-I started freaking out and I couldn't find a door. I-I remembered that there was a door by the Rec. Room, but before I could get outside I-I heard gunshots. I remember running in the direction of the Rec. Room, a-and I remember more gunshots and I remember pushing open the door and running outside. Then I-I felt this really, really bad pain in my shoulder, I-I think I blacked out because the next thing I remember is waking up in the ambulance."

Roger's eyes widened.

"Oh my God."

Mark nodded, looking down at his sneakers.

"I-I had panic attacks whenever I walked down to the West Wing ever since. I-I never told anyone. Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night totally terrified, sometimes I'd feel like it was happening again when I walked down the halls…but I never told anyone. Not even my parents. Then I-I was in history class and…we were watching this re-enactment of the cold war…and I heard the gunshots and I-I kind of snapped. I got sent home and I had to go to a psychologist for the rest of the year."

Roger stared at him, slightly offended.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I-I didn't think you needed to know. And it's not usually a problem. Only when I hear gunshots. Sometimes I have flashbacks, but I haven't had one for a while now…"

"But still! I'm your best friend!"

"I know, I-I just don't like talking about it."

Roger turned to face him.

"I'd never even guess that you had PTSD."

"That's the idea." Mark muttered.

"I don't want people to know."

"Why?"

"Think about it, Roger!" Mark said.

"You didn't want anyone to know about your HIV diagnosis. I only knew because I was there when...you know...If I wasn't, you probably wouldn't have told me."

"Good point." Roger said, crossing his arms.

"So, you okay?"

"Yeah." He nodded, loosening his scarf a little.

"I guess I just needed to vent."

"Venting's always good." Roger agreed.

"So, want to head back to the car?"

Mark closed his eyes, before getting up.

"Yeah. Okay, let's go."

Roger smiled.

"Thanks for telling me, Mark."

"No prob, Rodge."

* * *

_"Everyone has baggage, maybe we should help each other carry it." _

-Rob Liano

* * *

**So...good? Awful? Constructive criticism is always appreciated!  
**


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